Annabel · Part 1

Annabel · Part 1 (1/2)
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Your new lover arrives looking as though he stepped out of the seventeenth century. He is dressed in a blue velvet suit with much lace and silk ruffles. His shoulderlength blond hair falls out from under a large blue velvet hat with a long white feather in it. He even has on white knee stockings and buckled shoes and he is carrying a goldtipped cane. He also is wearing a black mask over his eyes.

He stops still when he sees you. "Enchanting," he says and bows deeply. He steps toward you. "Pretty puss, have you done as I asked?" He slips his cane in the folds of your cloak. You unfasten the hooks of the cloak and open it. He gazes at you and smiles. You feel your nipples begin to harden. He licks his finger and traces the red lines around each one.

"Take off your mask," he says. When you do so he smiles again. "Ah, clever puss!" he says. He takes a mask from his pocket and puts it on you. It has no eyeholes but pads instead. He takes your hand and leads you out into the street. You wonder if your unfastened cloak might fall open and feel a tingle of excitement.

"Step up," he says as you reach the curb and you realize you are entering a carriage. What else, you think. Tonight will be a real adventure.

You have always known that the blind have their other senses heightened. You are surprised by how much this is the case with you so soon. You hear each sound quite clearly and distinctly: the horses hooves, the creaks of the carriage, people talking, insects buzzing. As the sun goes down you sense the expansion of space as sounds seem to carry farther. You know exactly where your lover is on the seat across from you. Is that by his body heat? Or maybe the reflection of sounds? Or some sixth sense? Your hands press against the cool yielding strength of the leather seat as your body enjoys the warm caress of the long cloak.

Now you realize that the street sounds are gone. "We are leaving the city," you say.

"Yes," he replies. "I have invited a few friends to my estate for an," he pauses, "intimate gathering."

He comes and sits beside you and cradles you in his arms. You turn your head to kiss him but he places a finger on your cheek. "No, pretty puss, we must not mar your artful face." He draws your cloak apart and begins to caress your thighs very lightly. You relax and let yourself open to his hand. He begins to trace small circles and designs on your tummy. He tests your wetness.

"So quick!" he says. He probes you deeply, gently but with a strength which will not be denied. Your face goes lax and your mouth opens slightly. You sigh.

You reach out and feel his hardness through his velvet crotch. He removes your hand, kisses it, and whispers, "Later you will feel it." He returns his attention to your thighs and sex. You don't know what to do with your hands. He will not allow you to do anything. You rest them on the leather seat. He makes a game of seeing how far down your thighs he can draw your wetness. By now your knees are far apart. You feel warm and flushed and enjoy the coolness on your legs as your fluids evaporate.

Since you must be passive you sink down into the leather and his arms and allow yourself to drift into a dreamlike reverie. You are vaguely aware that he is toying with you, increasing your arousal, then letting it subside. Your body feels warm and heavy. It seems like every peak is a little higher than the one before. You wish he would increase the tempo but at the same time it doesn't matter. What a whore I am! you think, here in the middle of nowhere with my legs spread wide enough to take in an army. Your throat feels dry.

"Enter me," you say in a hoarse whisper.

The carriage slows and turns. "We are here," he announces. He bends you forward and fastens a wide leather collar around your neck.

He fastens your cloak and leads you into the mansion. You feel a little dizzy and disoriented.

"Your guests have arrived, sir."

"Thank you Mathilde. No, she will keep her cloak on for now."

He leads you into a large room. "Hello, Johnny!" several voices call out. "Hi, Johnny," a short man's voice says nearby.

"Your friend is quite lovely, and such a becoming flush! You will introduce us later."

"Of course, Count," he replies. They begin to chat. You hold onto your lover's arm and begin to wonder how much you can tell about the room and the guests. There is a feeling of space in the room and you can identify one other group of guests talking.

It seems to be two men, one quite young, and a woman with a gravelly voice.

Your lover turns slightly. "Thank you, Mathilde. Everyone, dinner is ready. If you will please take your seats." He leads you to a chair and says, "Mathilde will feed you."

By now you are feeling left out of things. You reach out and find your lover's hand. "Can't I take this off now?" you ask.

"Be patient, my dear, all in good time."

"But…."

He places a finger over your lips. "Wait until I introduce you," he says.

Next you feel a spoon at your mouth. "Open up," says a strange female voice on your right. Mathilde. She has an accent.

"Are you from the West Indies?" you ask her.

Soup spills on your chin. She wipes it off and returns the spoon to your lips.

You open your mouth and take the soup. Again you do not know what to do with your hands. You put your left hand on your lover's knee. He squeezes it and places it in your lap. A distressing feeling of helplessness comes over you. You feel like tearing away from the table and running away, but where would you go? Johnny is talking with someone else. You wonder if you are going to cry.

Mathilde pats your forearm. "It's all right, dear. Don't worry. Here is a nice big shrimp. Open up." You take the shrimp and begin to chew. You start to feel better. Johnny squeezes your left hand. Then he caresses your cheek.

You calm down and eat dinner. You notice that there are five people talking, but that they are spaced out around the table. The scrape of utensils on the plates sometimes comes between the speakers. There are four more silent people at the table! Are they all blindfolded like me? you ask yourself. Johnny stands. "Before dessert allow me to introduce our guest of honor." He takes your hand. "Please stand, my dear." Polite applause around the table. "Come with me." He leads you to the center of the room. He unhooks the front of your cloak. You begin to feel quite giddy. He grasps your wrists firmly and deliberately raises them high above your head. The front of the cloak opens.

A murmur of appreciation fills the room. For a moment you imagine an auditorium of people admiring your naked form. You flush. Your lover has let go of your wrists but your arms stay raised. You cannot move, but you wouldn't if you could. You feel helpless and wanton at the same time. He reaches behind you and pulls the cloak more open on the left side, fully revealing your breast. More murmurs. "Perfect," someone says. He begins to tease the nipple, to pull it and twist it. It hardens. Then he does the same with your right breast. People are talking, someone chuckles. Your lover cups your mound and kisses you. Applause. "It would please me if you would stay as you are for a while," he says.

"Do you consent?" You manage to nod your head. You nod again. "Say it. Do you consent?" You lick your lips and swallow. "Yes," you whisper. He fastens two wide leather cuffs to your upraised wrists. They seem to be connected by a chain which he fastens to something hanging from the ceiling. You are pulled upwards until your heels leave the ground, then let back down until some of your weight is on your feet. "Please. Come and inspect her perfect beauty." How did this happen? you ask yourself. Here I am dangling blindfolded from the ceiling in a strange house before a bunch of strangers who are about to inspect my body! My mother didn't raise me for this.

The funny thing is, I don't feel helpless now, I don't even feel afraid. Well, just a little. What I feel is excitement! What a whore I am! You feel the presence of people around you. The Count says, "Look at those beautifully formed breasts. How prettily they jut out when she hangs." Someone weighs your right breast in his hand. Another hand strokes the outside of your left thigh. Hands begin to rub your whole body. "Let me look at this cunt," says the woman with the gravelly voice. Two thumbs pull your lips apart to reveal your clitoris, then her right thumb probes inside you. "She's very wet, Johnny." Laughter. Your head is ringing.

Someone lifts your robe behind and begins to stroke your buttocks. He explores your crack and presses his finger against your anus. "Oh Johnny, you must let me have her ass!" He presses harder but your sphincter is dry and it hurts a little. "No," you murmur. He pushes in. No. You shake your head. No. He moves his finger in circles inside your ass while other fingers play with your nipples and stroke your clit and cunt. A tongue licks your stomach. Please, no. I don't want to come, don't let me enjoy this. No. "Wait, my friends. You may inspect her, nothing more." The hands stop caressing you. The finger remains inside your ass.

"I wonder how many fingers she will take," says the man behind you. He reaches around with his free hand and inserts three fingers inside your vagina. "Ooh, I bet I can get my whole hand in!" says the woman. As they slide their fingers in and out of you you become dizzier and dizzier and let more of your weight hang from your wrists. The woman, you can tell her by her nails, tries to insert her finger into your mouth. I'm not a horse, you say to yourself, and clench your teeth. She pinches your nostrils shut. You hold your breath until you feel like you will pass out. Tears come to your eyes. Then you have to gasp. She keeps her grip on your nose and pulls your jaw open.

You no longer resist. Suddenly all the hands are pulled away. You dangle exhausted. Then different hands slowly stroke your cheek and hair. They pull your chin up and someone tenderly kisses you. Your lover! He licks your lips and then runs his tongue along your teeth. You open your mouth to suck him in. You move your body towards his. He continues to kiss you deeply while his hands brush your hardened nipples. A moan fills your throat from deep in your chest. He reaches down and presses and strokes around your clitoris. You are vaguely aware of your body as it begins to jerk and sway.

"Come, my friends. Mathilde, prepare our guest and bring her to us." You are left alone in the room. You slump exhausted in your bonds. You are content to hang there and rest. Content. Funny that I should feel content, you think, but I do. Mathilde comes and takes you down. She removes your cloak, shoes and stockings and wipes your body with a cool wet washcloth. She refastens your wrists behind you and presses a large rubber ball gag into your mouth. You are past resisting. She ties the gag behind your head, forcing it a little deeper into your mouth. She fastens a leash to your collar and leads you down a hallway. She stops and then removes your blindfold.

You blink, your eyes quickly adjusting to the dark hallway. You are standing before a large wooden door. Mathilde, you now see, is a short Black woman of about sixty with her hair pulled tightly back on her head. She opens the door and leads you by the leash down a dark winding stone stairway. You feel awkward with your hands behind you and try not to stumble. Mathilde keeps a steady pressure on the leash but does not hurry you too much. Down into the dungeon, you think. Corny but true. You stop before a massive wooden door with a heavy circle of iron for a handle. Mathilde slowly pulls it open and leads you inside.

Instead of a dungeon you see a large sitting room dimly lit by torches on the stone walls. A carpet covers the floor except for a ten by ten area in front of the fireplace, which has a small fire in it even though it is summer. The room is cool from being underground. You see four people seated in chairs on the perimeter of the open area in front of the fire. Someone is kneeling beside each of the chairs, except one, to which Mathilde leads you. Without being told you kneel beside it while she hands the leash to your lover. He takes it without looking at you. He is watching the spectacle before the fireplace.

A tall skinny young man with dark features a large nose and a prominent adam's apple is standing beside a large wooden X cross. Strapped to the cross upside down is a young small breasted woman. You cannot see her face as it is encased in a leather or rubber mask. Her pussy has been shaved. You can make out red stripes across her stomach and breasts where she has been whipped or caned. He reaches out and slaps her crotch. A low moan escapes from the mask. "This always makes her hot," he says. He probes her vagina and she moans again. "Would anyone care to inspect her?" A figure rises. It is a tall redhaired woman of about fortyfive or fifty, dressed in a mans suit.

You watch with fascination as she examines the stripes, handles the girl's breasts, and feels inside her pussy. That could be me, you think. Fear stabs your breast. That will be me, someday! You become aware of your bonds, of the leather collar and cuffs, the leash, the gag. You shake your head. No one notices. Your lover watches the scene before him raptly. You hang your head. What have I gotten myself in for? you think. How did this happen? Some time passes before a loud pop makes you look up. The skinny kid has opened a bottle of champagne. He reaches into the girl's pussy and extracts two ice cubes. Holding her twat open with one hand he pours champagne into it.

It froths and runs down her belly. The redhaired woman greedily fastens her lips over the girls crotch and laps up the liquid; she licks it off the girls belly and breasts, then looks at the kid expectantly. The young man looks at your lover, who rises and goes to the girl as the woman returns to her chair. The young man takes two more ice cubes out of the girls vagina and pours in more champagne. You prefer not to watch your lover put his mouth to another womans pussy and look to your left. A short balding man with dark hair and a black moustache, probably the count, is sitting in the next easy chair. Kneeling beside him is another woman with her head encased in a mask.

Her arms have been secured behind her in some kind of sheath. A rope tied to a ring at the end of the sheath lifts her arms up toward the ceiling and forces her head forward and down. The strain must be terrific, you think, and notice the strain in your jaws from the ball gag. You clench your teeth against the ball for relief. You feel a tug on your leash and stand up. Your lover removes your gag and you work your jaws reflexively. He caresses your face and looks at you lovingly. So like a little boy, you think. "You may go if you wish," he says.

"What will happen to me if I stay?" "Nothing you do not consent to." "And the other," you cannot say slaves, "the others?" "Nothing they do not consent to. Will you stay?" "I'm thirsty," you reply. He leads you by your leash to a table with a candelabra in the center and on which have been laid cheeses, bread, caviar, and various wines. "What goes well with rubber?" you ask.

Annabel · Part 1 (1/2)
Next